


Embrace and Protect

by bigblueboxat221b



Series: Sleep and Rest and Peace [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, M/M, Post-Season/Series 04 Finale, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 23:46:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9408068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/bigblueboxat221b
Summary: What exactly does Mycroft do in his down time? Greg is surprised to find out.





	

It was early afternoon by the time Mycroft and Greg were dry and dressed. Greg had chosen another pair of jeans, faded and comfortable, and a ‘The Clash’ t-shirt.

Mycroft had surprised him by appearing downstairs in the most casual clothes Greg thought he owned – a pair of tailored casual pants and a button down shirt. No tie, no waistcoat, just shirtsleeves rolled up and a hesitant grin.

Greg returned the smile, taking his time to look Mycroft up and down. He looked good, more relaxed than Greg had seen him for, well, ever. The haunted look had gone, for the moment at least, and Greg flattered himself that he was the cause of this more hopeful outlook.

“’The Clash’?” Mycroft asked, trailing one hand over the logo on Greg’s t-shirt.

Greg looked down, then grinned at him. “Yeah, do you know them?”

Mycroft didn’t answer, instead going over to his speaker system and fiddling for a moment, before the opening strains of _London Calling_ came from the hidden speakers.

Greg’s eyebrows shot high. “You’re a fan of The Clash?” he asked, disbelievingly.

Mycroft managed to look abashed. “A guilty pleasure, if you will,” he admitted, though his flush was certainly from pleasure rather than guilt, his eyes sparkling.

They listened for a moment, both enjoying the music before Greg asked, “Are you hungry?”

Mycroft considered, then answered, “I believe I am, Gregory.” He smiled at Greg. “What would you like to eat?”

“Pizza,” Greg answered immediately, adding, “but we can have whatever you’d prefer, really.”

Mycroft looked at him reprovingly. “You don’t have to coddle me, Gregory. We can order pizza if you like.”

Greg did some research on his phone, finding a pizza place and ordering their agreed combination. Once that was done, they looked at each other, The Clash still playing in the background.

“What do you usually do to relax, Mycroft?” Greg asked, realising he had no idea. They talked generally about food, wine, Sherlock, cases Greg was working, but they had never discussed how Mycroft spent his downtime. Did he ever really have any down time? Greg didn’t even know that, truth be told.

Mycroft shrugged. “I don’t have a lot of spare time,” he said, then hesitated before adding, “though I do enjoy classic movies, when a few hours are available to me.”

He looked at Greg, relieved to see his eyes light up. “Great! I love old movies. Do you have a media room or something?”

Gratified at Greg’s enthusiasm, Mycroft nodded. He lead Greg upstairs to the second level and into the media room. It was state of the art, of course, and Mycroft left Greg happily browsing his library as he insisted on bringing up the pizza and drinks. Mycroft answered the door to the delivery boy, then collected the bits and pieces they would need before carefully making his way back upstairs.

Greg jumped up to help, and together they sorted out the pizza and wine. Greg laughed when he saw the proper wine glasses and crockery Mycroft had brought up with him.

“I can’t believe you brought real plates!” he chuckled.

Mycroft replied, “Pizza is no reason not to use nice crockery, Gregory.”

Greg almost fell backwards laughing at this comment, and Mycroft felt a curious emotion. He prodded it a little, trying to figure out how to define it, then realised it was delight. He was genuinely pleased to have made Greg laugh, even though he was not exactly sure how he had managed it. Purer and fiercer than the satisfaction gained from a successful negotiation at work, Mycroft liked it, he decided after a moment.

Pouring the wine, Greg explained that he’d chosen Casablanca but had no idea how to bring it up on the screen. Mycroft arranged the movie, and they sat back ready to immerse themselves in the familiar film.

Mycroft was aware of Greg beside him, and worked hard to stop himself speaking the lines alongside the actor, a habit he had formed as a lone viewer over the years. The pizza was good, the wine dark and rich, and Mycroft felt the calm which had been slowly surrounding him continue to strengthen, gently wiping away the worst of his fears and anxieties. Partway through the movie, their hunger appeased, they paused it to tidy away the pizza box, crockery and wine. Coming back upstairs, Mycroft hesitated in the doorway of the media room. They had been sitting side by side, needing the space to eat and drink, but now they were free to sit however they liked. Greg stood beside Mycroft for a moment, before interlacing their fingers and saying quietly, “We can sit however you like.”

Mycroft squeezed Greg’s fingers, replying, “I would like to be as close to you as possible, Gregory.”

“Me, too.” Greg said, the smile in his voice. Understanding reached, they moved together to the couch, arranging themselves comfortably before continuing the movie. Mycroft sat against the back of the chaise, Greg between his outstretched legs, his chest to Mycroft’s back. Mycroft’s arms held Greg close, and Greg’s fingers were softly stroking his forearms.

It was fortunate indeed that Greg had chosen a movie with which Mycroft was so familiar, as it allowed his mind to wander. The warmth and weight of Gregory, held close against his chest, was anchoring for Mycroft, and he wondered again at his good fortune. The events around Eurus could not be considered at such, but without them to precipitate his personal crisis, he and Gregory may never have found themselves here. Mycroft was uncharacteristically peaceful at the idea of not knowing how things would progress. In any other instance, Mycroft used all intelligence available before moving forward in any venture. He was coming to realise, however, that this was a far different situation. He wasn’t only considering his own (or mother Britain’s) interests; Gregory was as important a consideration as himself in each decision that he made.

Mycroft also found himself in the unique situation of having complete trust in his counterpart (he probably should stop using such business like terms, though he had no idea what was the correct nomenclature). In most of his work, there was a level of mistrust involved with every interaction, and that had to be taken into consideration when weighing their motivation and agenda.

With Gregory, no such deliberations were necessary, he was learning. Gregory was clear about his intentions and wishes, his actions were honest and made with thought for Mycroft and his wellbeing. It was certainly a position in which Mycroft was not accustomed to find himself, yet he felt comfortable and, he thought, happy. Tentatively so, but Mycroft knew that if he was pressed, this last two days with Greg would be the best, most deeply fulfilling of his life.

Greg was enjoying the movie, one of his favourites, and he was glad of it. His attention wandered freely, from recalling the sensation of sharing a bath with Mycroft, to the look on his face when they had paused at the door earlier. For someone that had previously seemed so aloof and untouchable, Greg was learning fast to read his face. Mycroft had been trying to decide where to sit, that much had been clear. Hopefully, in time, he would stop thinking so much and simply act, Greg thought, acknowledging to himself that he was thinking long term about their arrangement. His initial attraction to Mycroft had developed further into deep affection as he watched Mycroft struggle with his enforced nature. Mycroft’s strength and determination as he pushed himself had endeared him to Greg, and Greg found himself incorporating Mycroft into his idea of the future.

On the screen, Humphrey Bogart and Claude Rains walked away from the camera, and Greg felt Mycroft’s chest rumble as he said the final line alongside the actors. “Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Greg grinned, then raised Mycroft’s arms to his lips. “Perfect choice,” he sighed.

Mycroft hummed in agreement. Mycroft was soft and pliant, his breathing even and deep.

“Tired?” Greg asked, knowing the long sleep of the previous night was probably not enough to mitigate the emotional exhaustion of the previous week.

“I am,” Mycroft admitted.

He released his arms, and Greg sat forward, then turned to face Mycroft. “Sleep time, then,” he said, a smile softening his no-nonsense tone. He leaned in and kissed Mycroft softly before pulling him up. Mycroft wrapped his arms impulsively around Greg, returning the kiss before releasing him with a sheepish grin on his face. Greg smiled.

They trailed upstairs, Mycroft changing the bed sheets while Greg used the bathroom. Mycroft followed him, finding Greg waiting in bed when he emerged, freshly pyjama-ed and minty breathed. He took a deep breath and climbed into bed beside Greg.

“I didn’t envision you in pyjamas, Gregory,” Mycroft noted, then blushed at the revealing comment.

“Dare I ask, Mycroft?” Greg teased, before admitting, “I don’t usually bother, but Anthea added them to my bag, so…” he shrugged.

Mycroft understood, wondering again at the thought Greg put into his actions. He leaned over and turned out the light, saying into the darkness, “Goodnight, Gregory.”

“Goodnight, Mycroft,” came the reply.

Mycroft laid on his side of the bed, wondering if it was acceptable for him to move closer to Gregory.

A soft chuckle interrupted his thoughts. “I can hear you thinking from over here, Mycroft,” Greg’s voice came out of the darkness. “If you want to cuddle, come and cuddle.”

Mycroft took him up on the offer immediately, rolling over to find Greg in the dark. His hand slid along Greg’s chest, and he found himself brought in close, head on Greg’s shoulder. The steady beat of Greg’s heart against his ear was soothing. Mycroft’s sigh of contentment mingled with Greg’s and they fell together into deep sleep.

+++

Mycroft was falling, towards rocks and salty spray, his arms bound, mouth taped shut. Eurus had dropped him, as she had dropped the innocent Garrideb brothers, and he could hear her voice in his ears as he fell, “I just want someone to play with me, nobody would play with me…” He fought against the bonds, seeing the rocks rushing towards him, feeling the spray on his face as he fell. The ropes holding him felt like they were strangling, and he struggled frantically, crying out against the tape on his mouth, knowing he could save himself if he could just get out of the ropes…

“Mycroft!”

He fought harder, feeling the bonds on his arms tighten, writhing until, with a sudden finality, he met the rocks with a thump. Whimpering, he lay still, wondering why he was still conscious, why he hadn’t died…

“Mycroft!” The voice again, repeating his name, and then, “Mycroft! It’s Greg, you’re okay, damn it where are the bloody lights?”

Mycroft blinked hard, then screwed his eyes shut at the blinding light. His mind was racing, blood pounding in his ears, drowning everything except the sound of his own ragged breathing.

“Breathe slowly, in and out, come on, in….and out….” Greg’s voice was close, and it was pitched low and soothing.

Mycroft struggled to focus on his voice, controlling his breathing as best he could. Now that he realised it had been a nightmare, he was shaking, his breathing was hitching, and Mycroft could feel that his control was waning as the relief flooded through him, threatening to overwhelm him.

“Gregory, Gregory,” he shuddered.

It must have been evident to Greg, too that Mycroft was close to breaking, because he bent down to the tangled mess of sheets on the floor, where Mycroft had fallen after flailing all over the bed. Greg surrounded Mycroft, pulling him into his lap and wrapping his arms tightly around him. This was what Greg had wanted to do that first night, to hold him and calm him like this, with his whole being. He whispered calming nothings into Mycroft’s ear, stroking his shoulders and waiting patiently for the shaking to subside.

It took a long time, but finally Mycroft sighed and sat up, not looking at Greg. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Hey,” Greg said, shifting so he was in Mycroft’s eye line, catching his gaze and making Mycroft hold it. “It might just as easily have been me. I’ve seen some things that come back sometimes. It’s okay.”

Mycroft nodded. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, making his way to the bathroom, where he allowed himself a moment of private mortification. Splashing water on his face, Mycroft looked himself in the mirror.

“He’s seen the worst, and he’s still here,” he told himself, only half believing himself, but determined to make it so. “And it might have been the other way around.” After a moment, he returned to the bed. Greg had straightened the sheets, and Mycroft crawled in, moving straight over to embrace Gregory. Greg’s arms were solid and strong, securing Mycroft to him. He curled around his detective, trusting that they would embrace and protect each other through the night.

**Author's Note:**

> I love the idea of Mycroft having hidden depths - surely easy for a man of whom we know almost nothing on a personal level. I always like to think that he would secretly love punk-movement music like The Clash. Such a rebellion against his "Queen and Country" exterior!


End file.
